The Topographies of Social Love: Space, Culture and the Dilemmas of Nativist Movements

Abstract

This article explores social love as a collective and transformative practice. It examines how both physical and ideological spaces serve as contexts where relationships of belonging, care, and responsibility are enacted and contested. It argues that space and place are crucial to understanding social love because they shape encounters, define boundaries of belonging, and reproduce or challenge relations of power, exclusion, and coloniality. At the same time, by examining the complexities of love in relation to nation-states and nativist movements, the article illustrates how ideologies can manipulate, for example, the concept of Ordo Amoris to justify the treatment of marginalized groups, particularly migrants. The study also considers relational perspectives that challenge conventional boundaries of belonging, extending bonds of responsibility beyond those defined by proximity, kinship, or national and human identities. Each of these discussions concludes with illustrative cases: grassroots mobilizations against anti-immigrant violence in Minneapolis (2026) and the Guaraní ñande reko (“our way of being”). The aim is to analyze how different spatial and relational configurations can challenge exclusionary understandings of community.

1. Introduction

The discussion of love has traditionally been constrained to the realms of private affections or familiar relationships. However, more than ever, arguments around love and care as social and collective endeavours, even as revolutionary praxis, have populated intellectual, political, and academic discourse. This is particularly relevant as these discussions shape the quality of life for individuals, communities, and nations, as well as our relationship with nature.

This article explores the relevance of space and place in studying love as a social practice. It examines how both physical and ideological spaces serve as scenarios where relationships of belonging, care, and responsibility are shaped and contested. The study also considers expressions of cultural values and practices. Furthermore, it addresses how these debates are directly impacted by issues of power, precarity, and representation, particularly concerning the emergence and proliferation of nativist discourse related to love and belonging. The analysis also touches on visibility, recognition, and validation in relation to colonial territories of domination and control.

We understand social love as a form of love that operates within social and collective contexts, emphasizing relationships focused on generating and promoting mutual support, empathy, forgiveness, and communal well-being. It is characterized by the ability to foster connections beyond just personal or intimate relationships, extending toward a sense of solidarity and collective identity across individuals and communities.

As Cataldi and Iorio (2023) write, social love emerges “as an action, relationship, or social interaction in which subjects exceed (in giving, in receiving, in not giving or not doing, in neglecting) all their antecedents and therefore offer more than the situation requires in order to make benefits” (p. 12). In other words, this type of care moves beyond notions of retribution or expectations about personal outcomes.

Social love can therefore be interpreted as playing a vital role in building social cohesion and enhancing the quality of interpersonal relationships, ultimately contributing to a more supportive society. As Cataldi and Iorio (2023) explain, this concept is distinct from romantic love and familial love, as it prioritizes the interconnectedness of individuals within a larger social framework. It can also be considered a practice critical of “the logic of consumerism and utilitarianism typical of contemporary society” (Cataldi 2023, p. 31). Drawing on contributions from a wide range of feminist literature, scholars of the concept of social love not only distinguish it from romantic love, which has served as an instrument of domination, but also consider love in its emancipatory role within political and social relationships (Cataldi 2023). Critical feminism and care ethics literature (Gilligan 1982; Kittay 1999; Pulcini 2009; Tronto 2013, etc.) also leads us to a fundamental dimension of social love: “taking care of the other and the world” (Cataldi and Iorio 2023, p. 13; Iorio 2014).

In fact, Cataldi and Iorio organize Social Love’s main characteristics around four interconnected dimensions: (1) Overabundance, understood as the capacity to go beyond what is expected or required and thus disrupting logics of calculation and instrumental exchange; (2) care, as a commitment to “collective well-being and the common world”; (3) universalism, as the extension of overabundance and care beyond immediate relationships and identity boundaries; and (4) recognition, as valuing others in their uniqueness and affirming their voice, dignity, and right to participate fully in collective life (Cataldi and Iorio 2026, p. 36). This approach highlights that not all expressions of affection or care fall into the category of Social Love.

It is also worth noting, as some scholars of the category suggest (Gallelli 2015; Cataldi and Iorio 2026), that social love is semantically distinct from several related terms, such as empathy, altruism, or gift-giving. Regarding the latter, although both may involve gratuitous acts, social love “transcends any logic of exchange” and is “defined by absolute unconditionality” (Cataldi and Iorio 2026, p. 34). A similar clarification is necessary regarding the notion of reciprocity. It should not be equated with social love when it is understood in terms of utilitarian exchange, mutual obligation, or the expectation of an equivalent return (Cataldi and Iorio 2023). However, reciprocity can also be intended in a relational sense, as a principle grounded in interdependence and mutual care. It is in this latter sense that we use the term in this article, particularly when discussing the Guaraní way of life. Moreover, we use social love as an umbrella concept that allows us to bring together practices of care, solidarity, and reciprocity as possible expressions of social love, following the four dimensions proposed by Iorio and Cataldi.

We understand that this concept may provide some challenges. It is not always easy to fully access or quantify people’s intentions or expectations, including our own as researchers. However, we believe that people’s actions towards social good define a current practice in many political and social practices, even beyond the definition itself. In this case, we explore the concept of social love as a praxis toward openness to diversity and difference beyond exclusion, the centrality of reciprocity, and the absence of expectation for self-gratification, as well as a promotion of a type of care that extends beyond your kin and nation (Butler 2020). As a concept, its plasticity allows us to connect different case studies and projects of various scales and times. In this sense, the central research questions guiding this study are: (1) How does nativism challenge the relational and spatial premises of social love? (2) What alternative formats of relationality emerge through practices of care, territorial belonging, and collective resistance?

Therefore, the article engages with the complexities of love discourse in relation to nation-states, nativist movements, and the ideological fractures that tend to isolate love and care in the construction of a social agreement between people and nations. It explores how nativist narratives in the US are shaping the concept of Ordo Amoris to justify their treatment of migrants. As an example that runs counter to this logic, we analyze the grassroots mobilizations against ICE presence in Minneapolis in 2026.

In addition, the article discusses the relational ontologies of the Indigenous Peoples of Latin America, specifically the Guaraní “ñande reko.” It is presented as a step toward a relationality that extends the bonds of belonging, calling to connect and engage with differences rather than avoid, deny, or reject them. Throughout the analysis, the study tries to recognize the interconnectedness and cross-contextual realities of the local with the global. This approach reveals how concepts of love are not only influenced by local traditions and practices but also by global movements and narratives, particularly in the context of migration and cultural exchange. The article concludes with a call to merge empirical research on love with a pragmatic approach to transforming both academia and society.

2. Materials and Methods

This article is conceived as a theoretical and interpretive contribution that explores love as a social and collective endeavor. It develops a conceptual analysis based on literature and secondary sources to examine how social love interacts with broader social, political, and cultural contexts. The study draws on fields such as sociology, cultural studies, and political theory. This interpretative and critical review establishes a theoretical framework that contextualizes the discussion of love within historical and contemporary events. We examine various texts, including academic publications, policy documents, and media representations related to love and care. This analysis aims to uncover the underlying ideologies and power dynamics that shape perceptions and discussions of love.

Social love takes on diverse shapes, and it is a topic that has long been studied—from classical philosophy and the sociological tradition to contemporary sociology, feminist studies, critical theory, postcolonialism, the sociology of emotions, etc. (Iorio 2014; Cataldi 2023). Despite this, there is still a lack of methodologies to analyze what love means in different cultures, groups, and social contexts. For this reason, each of the two main discussions—the exclusionary ideology of nativism and the expansion of community in relational ontologies—is complemented by an illustrative case that grounds the theoretical analysis. Love has many different manifestations; in this case, it may be analyzed through its effects, results, and impacts.

To begin with, regarding nationalism and nativism, the article examines the public protests in Minneapolis against the persecution of immigrants. The analysis draws primarily on news reports, social media, and statements by authorities. Given the recency of these events, this article documents sources and provides a critical approach for examining an ongoing public debate on migration. This discussion serves to illustrate how alternative forms of relationality, care, and solidarity continue to emerge in contemporary urban contexts and across different geographical settings, even under challenging conditions.

Secondly, we explore the relationality inherent in the Guaraní ñande reko, which will be addressed primarily through both classic and more recent ethnographic works. These studies succeed in identifying common elements among the wide variety of Guaraní subgroups. Nevertheless, our discussion focuses primarily on those referred to in the ethnohistorical literature as the Guaraní-Chiriguano and Ava-Guaraní. Moreover, to illustrate certain points based on the Guaraní people’s own voices, we will focus primarily on public statements of Yariguarenda, an Ava-Guaraní community in Salta, Argentina. We recognize that analyzing Guaraní relational ontologies mainly through secondary sources raises ethical and epistemological questions regarding the authority to speak about Indigenous worlds. It prompts inquiry into the conditions under which this authority is granted and the stakeholders involved. This concern echoes longstanding debates on representation and voice, as highlighted by Spivak in Can the Subaltern Speak? (Spivak 1988). Nonetheless, one of the authors has conducted long-term ethnographic research with Guaraní communities in northwestern Argentina; to avoid reproducing forms of academic extractivism, those materials must still undergo a process of collective discussion and validation with the communities involved before being incorporated into academic publications.

We set out based on the premise that it is important to recognize the differences in how social love is expressed in various temporal, geographic, and sociocultural contexts. For this reason, we do not seek to compare the two cases, which differ significantly in terms of location, scale, timeframe, power dynamics, etc. Therefore, the discussion is not intended to be exhaustive or to definitively determine whether the illustrative cases constitute social love or not. Rather, they are presented as an exploration of social love as a practice linked to openness to diversity and difference, reciprocity, and forms of care capable of transcending the usual boundaries of belonging, extending bonds of responsibility beyond those defined by proximity, kinship, or national—and even human—belonging. On one side, Guaraní societies, understood here in their broad historical and geographical diversity, inhabited since before colonial times (and continue to do so) extensive territories across present-day Paraguay, Brazil, Bolivia, and Argentina. Many Guaraní societies were incorporated into colonial formations from positions that were often peripheral, frontier-based, or only partially subjected to colonial institutions. This case helps us explore alternative ways of approaching space as a collective good, in which the land must be cared for as part of an interdependent community. The other example, the protests in support of immigrants in Minneapolis, unfolds in a contemporary context and, obviously, within a more limited time frame. Here, we will take a closer look at the dynamics underlying State policies of exclusion (and the reactions to them).

These two examples, while certainly distant and, in many ways, incomparable, nonetheless share a desire to propose a different typology of society—one that questions the normative assumptions imposed by state sovereignty and transcends the hegemonic frameworks used to define who are legitimate subjects of care, solidarity, or belonging. Both cases involve a constructed sense of “otherness.” On one hand, many Indigenous Peoples are regarded as “others” by most nation-states in the Americas, who are the heirs of colonization. On the other hand, there are immigrants (or a particular subset of them) who are excluded by nativism and the associated discourses.

3. Discussion

3.1. On Love as a Social and Spatial Practice. How Are Space and Place Crucial for the Study of Social Love?

Social love is often distinguished from other types of love, such as romantic, familial, or sexual affection (Iorio 2014). Generally, social love focuses on the relational and communal aspects of human connections that foster social cohesion, support, and resilience within communities, highlighting the importance of interpersonal relationships for overall well-being and social stability. Non-assumptive and free from the expectation of payback, as well as the anonymity of beneficiaries, are elements that partially define the character of social love. Although there may be a general notion of directed intentionality aimed at addressing a specific form of vulnerability, this may be recognized, expected, or intrinsically embedded in the action or policy of love. In other words, gratuity is envisioned as an altruistic and humanistic element not necessarily tied to the giver, though in some cases, recognition by the benefactor may validate or reinforce the action’s relevance to society. For instance, if the leader of a religious, social, or academic association recognizes a particular vulnerable group and sanctions discrimination against them, the social capital associated with that association or leader is mobilized, amplifying the impact of their appeal for social transformation. In this context, a social group can ignite forms of social love that are both collective and individual simultaneously.

Despite its distinction from romantic or sexual attraction, it is crucial to recognize that social love can also thrive through attraction or affective affiliations, as these connections can lead to expressions of care that ignite social, political, and economic manifestations of social love (Butler 2020). In other words, the realms of social love can be fluid and heterogeneous. For instance, a parent caring for their ill child may inspire co-workers to donate their own vacation and sick time to ensure the child receives proper care once they learn that the father has exhausted his own sick and family leave (Belorgey et al. 2016, pp. 81–2). In this scenario, an act of solidarity emerging from a familial and friendship context can ultimately prompt national policy changes, as was the case in France (RFI 2014) with far-reaching social implications beyond the original situation. We have also observed similar occurrences in various cases of family-promoting legislation aimed at supporting disabled or vulnerable children.

3.1.1. On Space and Social Love

The concepts of space and place are integral to the study of social love, as they shape the context in which social relationships develop and thrive. Social love always occurs in specific spaces and places (both real and virtual) that define its nature and characteristics. Furthermore, places hold emotional significance (Manzo 2003), influencing how individuals experience and express love. Personal histories connected to specific locations can amplify feelings of attachment or alienation, shaping relational dynamics. Undoubtedly, people’s homes, community centers, public spaces such as plazas, and private places of worship significantly influence how relationships are formed and maintained. Different environments facilitate connection, intimacy, and the sharing of experiences and resources.

In addition, spatial proximity profoundly affects the strength and nature of social bonds. Being physically close to others can foster stronger emotional ties, communal support, and mutual aid, while geographical distance may challenge these connections. In this sense, space is crucial. Research has demonstrated that when individuals meet beyond their differences, they are more likely to engage in dialogue and achieve mutual understanding (Manzo 2003; Pettigrew and Tropp 2011). In the United States, racial groups have historically been deeply segregated, which limits their opportunities to encounter one another regularly; their interactions may be shaped more by television and media than by direct experience. In other words, people remain strangers partly because they lack opportunities for genuine engagement. Being together both ignites and facilitates the paths toward practices of social love. Consequently, creating spaces for encounters is crucial for fostering long-lasting social change.

However, this alone is not sufficient. Geographic disparities in access to resources and services can significantly impact social love. Racial and ethnic segregation often accompanies policies of exclusion, extraction, and exploitation, leading to substantial differences in life expectancy due to poverty, healthcare disparities, policy inequity, and harassment, which generate various social behavior problems for all parties involved. Spatial and physical segregation, as expressions of a lack of social love, contribute to and perpetuate numerous forms of non-love, which create vulnerability. This can even lead to the “production and exploitation of group-differentiated vulnerability to premature death” (Gilmore 2007, p. 28). In contrast, areas with greater access to support networks, green spaces, and community activities tend to facilitate stronger social connections and overall well-being. In these contexts, class and the social privileges associated with race, citizenship, heteronormativity, and their performance can favor particular expressions of social love.

Moreover, this dynamic can bring specific forms of social love to the forefront while rendering others invisible. As explained in a previous chapter by one of the authors, our notions of activism, structural voluntarism, and philanthropy are deeply rooted in cultural and class-related contexts, rendering other informal modes of solidarity illegible, undervalued, or perceived as unintentional (Calvo-Quirós 2026). It is not that upper-class individuals love more than those from lower socioeconomic backgrounds; rather, they are structurally more recognizable, valued, and protected. In other words, familiarity and proximity to structures of power significantly influence our perception of care. Recognizing these social constraints is essential for understanding the connection between power, place, and social love.

Sociologists, urban planners, architects, and health providers have documented that certain spaces (and geographies) can hinder connections or promote feelings of isolation, discrimination, and dislocation (Soja 1989). These environments can negatively impact individual well-being, potentially leading to pathologies that affect people’s ability to enact social care for themselves and those around them. For instance, a particular place can encourage certain behaviors; during exceptional moments such as war, social uprisings, or protests, collective experiences of distress and violence can spread harm. Certain objects and alterations in human-made environments can diminish care for others. For example, cities that design benches to prevent homeless individuals from sleeping on them, along with the brutalist aesthetics of high schools that reinforce racial segregation and inequality (Gutman 2019; Korsh 2020). Moreover, design choices combined with policies such as zero tolerance and subjective categories like ‘willful defiance’ have created systemic pipelines that funnel students into the criminal justice system and ultimately into prisons, particularly affecting Latino, Black, and minority students (Castillo 2014; Wald and Losen 2003). Simultaneously, violent moments can also spark an oppositional reaction, leading to extraordinary acts of care, solidarity, bravery, forgiveness, and altruism that contrast with and redirect social behavior and human history (Pulcini 2009; Boltanski 2009). Moreover, even when they emerge as direct responses to specific events and places, some of these acts transcend the limitations of their circumstances.

It is important to recognize that spaces (and places) can also promote peace (Vogel 2018), reflection, and inner transformation, a concept embraced by nearly all cultures. In this context, design elements such as lighting, acoustics, sound, and movement can aid individuals and communities in healing, remembering, reconciling with the past, and confronting future challenges. This is exemplified by memorials, monuments, cemeteries, and mausoleums. Additionally, churches, synagogues, mosques, and other places of worship are designed to provide communities with environments for meditation, silence, and self-reflection. These spaces also serve as venues where people build community, enact solidarity, strengthen cultural ties, and overcome vulnerabilities (Hargreaves 2004). Furthermore, cultural centers, ethnic neighborhoods, migrant quarters, and even prisons, detention centers, and concentration camps can also emerge as spaces where social love is unexpectedly present (Davis 1990).

What is interesting is that while objects do not have agency to inflict harm, humans may design them in ways that reflect a lack of compassion for others (Knappett and Malafouris 2008). In this context, inanimate objects become conduits for people’s ideologies and indifference. However, what is less well documented is the opposite: how spaces, places, and even objects can facilitate and promote social love. This is possible because social love, by its nature, cannot be domesticated, owned, constrained, or controlled. In other words, no single culture, religious group, historical period, generation, or even intellectual school of thought can claim it (Calvo-Quirós 2026). In many ways, social love represents a challenge to traditional power structures. By its nature, it reflects the wild and irrational aspects of humanity, despite our assertions to the contrary.

Social spaces can serve as symbols of identity and belonging. How individuals relate to specific places—whether through personal, historical, or collective experiences—contributes to their understanding of social love and relational dynamics. Moreover, places are always embedded in cultural and societal norms, values, and expectations that guide expressions of love and social connection. Understanding how different cultures define and manifest social love influences how it is practiced and perceived in specific contexts. What may be viewed as an act of kindness in one culture might not be interpreted the same way in another cultural group with different social norms. Additionally, such actions can be misinterpreted and judged as offensive or intrusive. In other words, good intentions alone are insufficient if we are unaware of the cultural values surrounding class, gender, age, religion, and even time that shape our interpretations of social love.

For example, a particular cultural group may have strong feelings and social rules regarding paying for a guest’s meal. What one person perceives as just and equitable may be viewed as rude and offensive by another. Additionally, the rules governing negotiation and the exchange of goods are defined by social norms that are not always easy to decipher without the necessary cultural codes. Although individuals may appear to be navigating similar contexts, they may not be. In some non-Western cultures, it is expected that the host covers the guest’s expenses; however, some Westerners may perceive this as an economic imposition and a burden. Navigating these two systems to avoid exploitation and unnecessary distress requires social and cultural finesse.

While cultural context must be recognized, preserved, and protected, it is also essential to acknowledge that cultures are not fixed. They are continually adapting and transforming in response to external and historical forces. This creates a challenging balance between cultural sovereignty and the need to uphold and protect the human dignity of all individuals, even when such changes may lead to cultural shifts and occasional social friction. Change is not always easy, particularly when addressing historical, social, and cultural norms. This is evident in discussions around women’s rights, the inclusion of marginalized groups such as the LGBTQ community, and vulnerable migrants—three groups that have become significant topics in recent decades. In other words, social love possesses a dissident nature, as it is capable of advocating for social change beyond what may seem obvious, appropriate, normative, or acceptable. It calls for transformation in ways that are not always predictable.

An important cultural and technological shift that has defined the last decades, directly related to issues of proximity and connectivity, has been the emergence and proliferation of online spaces, including the critical discussions around issues of equity, representation, access and control. Furthermore, any analysis of social love today is incomplete without recognizing the rise and proliferation of digital communication, online platforms, virtual gatherings, online forums, and social media, where people interact, enact, and engage in actions and imaginaries that foster and cultivate social love. This analysis should extend beyond merely understanding how virtual environments influence relationships, including support networks and affinity groups, and also examine how contemporary societies are generating new knowledge about social love. What constitutes altruistic practices online, and how do these practices navigate the territories of care that transcend the boundaries of nation-states?

Thus far, we have primarily focused on human-made spaces and places. However, it is essential to recognize that unaltered and natural environments also play a crucial role in our geographies of social love. This includes national parks and many other areas where the concept of “use” for profit may not be clear or explicit, as they invoke collective care benefits. We refer to the categories of “used” and “unused” because colonial practices of appropriation have repeatedly affected Indigenous communities, leading to the dispossession and misappropriation of spaces based on the perceived notions of “right use,” “better use,” or “maximized use” of land for the production of goods—often disregarding the religious and cultural significance attributed to these lands by original communities. This raises, as noted earlier, the importance of acknowledging cultural differences in the enactment of social love within various spaces. Let us take a closer look at the connection between coloniality and territory.

3.1.2. Space as a Colonial Project

As scholars deeply invested in studying the intersections of power, inequity, and the maneuvers of empathy, care, and love as forces for social change, especially as we move between continents and study displaced, disenfranchised, and marginalized communities, we feel it is important to engage, even briefly, with the issues of coloniality. The conquest and colonization period entailed not only the genocide of the Indigenous population, but also the plundering of their natural resources, the dismantling of their ways of life, and their subordination to European monarchies (Ossola 2016, p. 240). It was with the conquest of the Americas and their integration into modern colonial capitalism that race emerged as one of the organizing principles of the world’s population. Phenotypic differences began to be interpreted as racial differences and used to justify relations of superiority and inferiority between conquerors and the conquered (Quijano 2014). This fact naturalized a power structure that extends to the present day through renewed forms of exclusion, racialization, and the denial of diversity.

Nevertheless, coloniality is not articulated solely through race. Class, religion, and gender also constitute fundamental axes of power relations and oppression (Mills 2005). Certain identities are linked to specific positions within the productive structure, establishing a “systematic racial division of labour” (Quijano 2014, p. 781). Similarly, the subordination of women and control over their bodies and reproduction are integral parts of the colonial matrix of power (Segato 2007). As Gago (2019) explains, women’s bodies can be conceived of as a territory to be conquered and dominated: Capital dispossesses land and bodies using the same logic, because it renders both available and exploitable without prior negotiation. Moreover, Lugones (2010) argues that we should think in terms of the still-operative “coloniality of gender”, that is, “what lies at the intersection of gender/class/race as central constructs of the capitalist world system of power” (p. 746). Consequently, experiences of oppression cannot be analyzed in isolation. They must be examined from an intersectional perspective that enables us to understand how race, class, and gender reinforce one another and produce distinct positions of subordination and disadvantage (Crenshaw 1989; Lugones 2008).

That said, conquest, colonization, and the current disparities of power are also manifested in the territories, creating a strong linkage to extractivism—an economic model focused on the extraction of vast quantities of natural resources from once-colonized territories to the former colonial powers. This pattern, which has particularly defined the last 500 years of the continent’s history, has intensified and transformed in recent decades, resulting in a significant expansion of activities such as mega-mining, hydrocarbon extraction, agribusiness, and other forms of intensive exploitation of natural common goods (Svampa 2019). As a result of this model, the re-privatization of Latin American economies has been encouraged, and new forms of external dependence have been reinforced (Acosta 2012). Furthermore, the dynamic of “accumulation by dispossession” (Harvey 2004) has intensified through processes of land concentration, population displacement, and the expansion of large transnational corporations into territories previously considered peripheral (Svampa and Viale 2014). Environmentally, this model is based on a productivism and efficiency-driven conception of territory that reduces nature to a set of resources available for exploitation, devaluing other forms of relationship with it. Thus, certain spaces become “sacrificial areas,” where environmental degradation and social costs are borne by local communities in the name of “progress” (Svampa and Viale 2014, p. 18). In this sense, extractivism constitutes a continuation of colonial logics of appropriation of nature and reproduces new forms of inequality and dispossession. This has particularly severe impacts on Indigenous Peoples, peasants, and other historically subordinated groups.

Extractivism has also expanded into urban areas—referred to as ‘urban extractivism’—through the appropriation of public lands, state-owned properties, and green spaces by large real estate corporations. This, coupled with the extreme commodification of housing, results in population displacement, concentration of wealth, and deepening socio-spatial inequalities (Svampa and Viale 2014). Housing has thus ceased to be a place where life is sustained, “becoming instead a hub connecting various strategic spheres for the financial system” (Vásquez Duplat 2021, p. 12). Although the housing crisis significantly impacts broad segments of the middle class—who face increasing difficulties in accessing home ownership—it has a particularly steep effect on the most vulnerable populations. These individuals are displaced and compelled to reside in informal settlements with precarious environmental and sanitary conditions. Consequently, the logic of accumulation and dispossession characteristic of the extractivist model fosters urban spaces that are increasingly exclusionary, privatized, and undemocratic (Svampa and Viale 2014).

3.2. The Re-Emergence of the Nativist Movement and the Argument of Nationalist Love

As discussed at the beginning of this article, theorizing about the topographies of social love involves considering it as a framework that integrates cultural and political geography to analyze how communities map and enact solidarity, care, unity, and support for one another. This complex undertaking requires examining various elements that are not always clear-cut or well-defined concerning people’s networks and understandings of love. For instance, two critical elements in contemporary public discourse are patriotism and nationalism, along with nativism. Although these concepts are distinct, they are deeply interconnected; they can mutually reinforce one another.

Patriotism, nationalism, and nativism represent distinct yet interrelated ideologies regarding national identity and allegiance. Nativism is not merely an intensified form of patriotism or nationalism; rather, it occupies a distinctive analytical space in the realm of political ideologies. While patriotism and nationalism can encompass a broader range of sentiments and allegiances, nativism is specifically characterized by its construction of a clear-cut division between native and non-native individuals. This binary distinction serves as the foundation for nativist rhetoric, which often frames non-native individuals (aesthetics and ideas of diversity) as existential threats to the cultural, social, and political fabric of the nation.

In this regard, nativism fundamentally operates on fear and exclusion. It posits that the presence of non-native individuals undermines the integrity of the community, leading to perceived threats to economic stability, social cohesion, and national identity. This sense of vulnerability gives rise to exclusionary policies and practices, which seek to protect the interests and privileges of the so-called native population.

Moreover, nativism employs this construction of the native/non-native divide to justify a variety of social and political agendas, often rooted in historical narratives or cultural myths that glorify a homogeneous national identity. By portraying non-native individuals as inherently incompatible with the values and norms of the nation, nativism creates a climate of suspicion and animosity, further entrenching divisions within society.

Consequently, nativism transcends mere expressions of loyalty or cultural pride. It fundamentally reshapes the political landscape by advocating for policies that prioritize native interests while marginalizing those deemed non-native. This analytical distinction underscores the urgency of addressing nativist ideologies in contemporary discourse, as they can foster exclusionary practices that resonate deeply within national politics.

In his influential book Imagined Communities, Benedict Anderson defines a nation primarily as “an imagined political community [that is] imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign” (Anderson 1983, p. 6). He explains that its members develop a shared consciousness and identity that transcends personal acquaintance. In other words, we can argue that a nation’s cohesion is primarily sustained on an emotional level. For Anderson (1983), nationalism emerged from historical shifts, such as the decline of religious communities and the rise of print capitalism, which fostered a shared consciousness enabling individuals to feel part of a larger sovereign nation beyond the confines of their immediate kinship. Nationalism, as a political project, typically seeks to unify people around elements such as language, cuisine, music, and shared historical experiences, including catastrophes and wars. It can manifest in formal independence movements and, later, in discourses of national sovereignty, self-determination, or the promotion of national economic interests.

While nationalism often embodies an inclusive ethos, it inherently involves a discernment process regarding who belongs to, or is excluded from, the national project. Consequently, nationalism can give rise to exclusionary practices, particularly against those perceived as “dangerous” to the unity and cohesion of the nation’s imagined homogeneity, such as minorities and non-citizens. In this context, nationalism may evolve into practices that marginalize ethnic groups, promoting or reinforcing prejudices and stereotypes. As scholar Higham (1988) explains, this form of nationalism has been part of the history of the United States and has evolved over time both as an ideology and as a praxis. It embodies tendencies of exclusion and rejection that are explicitly nation-based.

This definition may work, particularly for the United States, but how about other Western contexts? In this regard, Mudde (2007) defines nativism as “an ideology, which holds that states should be inhabited exclusively by members of the native group (‘the nation’) and that non-native elements (persons and ideas) are fundamentally a threat to the nation-state” (p. 19). He reiterates the exclusionary nature of nativist movements and specifically analyzes the attacks against three groups, Muslims, Jews, and the Rom, who are constructed as enemies.

More recent work, such as that of sociologist Bart Bonikowski, expands our understanding of nationalism by elaborating on its connections to authoritarianism and populism. He recognizes the complexities of broader universalist definitions and emphasizes that people’s attitudes and approaches to the nation change over time, both between and within groups, parties, and even political campaigns (Bonikowski and DiMaggio 2016). Nationalism is deeply influenced by the circumstances surrounding individuals, including, but not limited to, financial stress and vulnerability (Bonikowski 2017). In other words, it is not static or homogeneous; rather, it is relational, evolving across different domains and spaces, and is activated in response to the circumstances that shape people’s belief systems. As Bonikowski explains, the politics of ethno-nationalism thrives on scapegoating and fearmongering, especially when combined with populist anti-elite arguments. The radical right has developed an effective formula that intertwines nationalism, populism, and authoritarianism, creating a synergy among these three ideologies. Populism criticizes elites while elevating the people, nationalism defines who “the people” are, and authoritarianism implements measures that benefit those in power, maintaining the dominance of radical supporters. This combination proves especially effective during times of structural change, cultural shocks, and rising status anxiety within dominant groups (Bonikowski et al. 2022).

Moreover, in her foundational book, The Cultural Politics of Emotion (Ahmed 2004), argues that nations are formed not merely by geography, but through what she defines as “affective economies” in which shared emotions and feelings bind people together and define who belongs and who should be excluded, rejected, or contained. In other words, as she explains, these emotions and beliefs circulate, exchange and trade as a type of capital, beyond the private sphere and into the public as social practices. And it is via this circulation of emotions that a set of boundaries of affiliation and rejection are constructed, emphasizing “us” and “them.” This introduces another related concept for our discussion: nativism.

Higham (1988) defines nativism as “an inflamed and nationalistic type of ethnocentrism” (p. 4). He explains that while ethnocentrism is a general prejudice against outsiders, nativism is a specific, intensified version of nationalism that links hate and rejection directly to national identity. In this context, nativism is not merely a dislike of the differences manifested by the ‘other’, but rather it is a radical effort to protect and shield a nation’s culture and institutions from the perceived threats posed by foreigners, migrants, “aliens” and those defined as undesirables. More importantly, national threat boundaries are not defined or limited by fixed physical borders, but rather by cultural, religious, or ethnic markers that differentiate ‘natives,’ ‘non-natives,’ and sovereign territories, beyond both real and imaginary.

As (Bonikowski 2017; Bonikowski et al. 2022) observes, nationalism and nativism are interconnected, and here populist discourse functions as a rhetorical and discursive method that provides the logic and tools to reproduce frames of fear. Here again, Ahmed’s arguments regarding the circulation of emotions prove particularly useful for understanding how, through the rhetoric of repetition employed by authoritarian populism, the bodies of the ‘other’ become, as she identifies, ‘sticky’ and infused with negative emotions such as fear, disgust, and suspicion (Ahmed 2004). This highlights two important elements: (a) the contagious nature of hate and suspicion directed toward minoritized subjects, and (b) the manipulation of discourses of love to promote hostility, rejection, and fear.

Before discussing these two elements, it is essential to affirm that nativism extends beyond a mere political ideology or exchange of ideas; it is accompanied by actionable methods. Nativism is designed to favor the interests of the nation over those of other nations, prioritizing the rights of individuals perceived as the nation’s original inhabitants over immigrants and minorities, whom it considers non-normative. In this context, nativism aims to preserve the cultural, economic, and political dominance of the prevailing group. Consequently, it often promotes policies that restrict immigration and emphasize the necessity for cultural homogeneity. Furthermore, nativism relies on a fixed and linear conception of stable cultures, coupled with a nostalgic longing for the past, ultimately failing to recognize the permeable and evolving nature of cultures and nations (Boym 2001).

Cultural theorist Berlant (1997) highlights that nativism’s governance and policy are emotionally driven, acting as a defense against collective anxiety and nostalgia. These sentiments create a narrative that helps people cope with social, economic, and demographic changes. As marginalized groups like people of color, women, and LGBTQ+ individuals demand equality, traditional power structures—primarily white, heterosexual, middle-class men—may experience displacement and pessimism about their future. This fear of change fuels nativism. Berlant describes these privileged groups as “unmarked,” viewed as the normative standard in society and idealized as full members with undeniable status. They possess cultural elements that reinforce their central role in national narratives, termed “national iconicity.” This concept encompasses symbols and events strategically used to create a cohesive narrative centered around “unmarked” citizens. Moreover, as Ahmed (2004) notes, narratives of exclusion and hate spread contagiously, targeting non-normative individuals and their cultures. Conversely, objects deemed ‘sacred’ for the nation-state also affirm national identity, as individuals connect with symbols like flags or anthems. Therefore, actions such as flag burning are perceived as desecrations, similar to the treatment of religious symbols.

Nativist groups often seek to homogenize the physical landscape to reflect only the dominant aesthetics of the “mainstream” identity. This includes national symbols such as flags and their colors, the national anthem, and even representative animals (e.g., the eagle), as well as architectural styles (e.g., grand monuments), typefaces (e.g., Times New Roman), and propaganda films. Additionally, practices such as censoring and destroying art and literature designated as “degenerate” (e.g., Alma López’s art of the Virgin of Guadalupe at the Santa Fe Museum of International Folk Art), along with the banning of certain authors (e.g., Arizona House Bill 2281, which banned Ethnic Studies and several books in the Tucson Unified School District), are employed to manipulate cultural production for the purposes of territorial control, exclusion, and the perceived cleanliness of the social body.

In 2025, Secretary of State Marco Rubio mandated that all U.S. diplomatic units use the Times New Roman typeface for official documents, reversing the Biden administration’s previous switch to Calibri, which aimed to enhance accessibility for readers with disabilities (Lee 2025; Barker 2026). Rubio labeled Calibri as “another wasteful DEIA program.” This change was viewed as part of a broader Trump policy promoting a unified approach to America’s foreign relations (Treisman 2025). Politico (Dallison 2025) characterized it as “U.S. wages war on woke fonts.” As a sans-serif font, Calibri lacks the “decorative tops and tails” found in serif fonts like Times New Roman, which some studies suggest makes serif fonts harder to read (Treisman 2025). Times New Roman was viewed as more conservative, while Calibri was seen as too modern and “woke” (The Guardian 2025). Historically, typefaces have been used by various social movements to project values like austerity and strength. Thus, font choice serves as a powerful tool for ideological expression and shapes cultural identity, highlighting how small details can influence societal perceptions and reinforce political narratives.

Let us also remember the case of Sébastien de la Cruz, a Mexican American boy who sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” at the 2013 NBA Finals in San Antonio, which underscores the intersectionality of rejection in contemporary society. Despite being born in Texas, de la Cruz faced a barrage of anti-immigrant comments, largely due to his traditional mariachi outfit (Rodriguez 2013). One critic, a self-proclaimed NBA fan, questioned, “Why is a foreigner singing the national anthem?” while another provoked, “Who let this illegal alien sing our national anthem?” This reaction illustrates how de la Cruz’s mariachi attire transformed into an “iconic” object that undermined his American identity. At just 11 years old, his choice of clothing marked him as an outsider, despite his U.S. citizenship and a father who served in the military. The incident highlights how rejection operates through multiple dimensions—not only through language but also through aesthetics and public performance. It was not merely the outfit that sparked controversy; the performance of the anthem by a brown body at such a significant event amplified the exclusionary discourse.

In this context, the concepts of aesthetic plurality and the rights of communities to express themselves in accordance with their histories and traditions are rendered nonexistent unless they align with state interests (Gaspar de Alba 1998). Moreover, narratives and myths regarding the origins of the nation are selectively promoted, resurfaced, emphasized, or recreated to create a façade of cohesive homogeneity within the dominant group’s core identity. This process diminishes genealogical conflict and ambiguity, effectively eliminating challenges to the naturalization of power (Arendt 1951).

A question may arise: what distinguishes each of these examples as instances of nativism rather than nationalism, racialization, conservative cultural politics, anti-DEI initiatives, or censorship? Each example exemplifies nativism by emphasizing the native/non-native divide, which sets it apart from nationalism, traditional racialization, conservative cultural politics, anti-DEI initiatives, and general censorship. While issues of race, class, and gender contribute to the ethos and mechanisms of exclusion employed by nativist groups, these examples collectively underscore how nativism prioritizes and safeguards a perceived cultural homogeneity, viewing non-native narratives as existential threats.

The Times New Roman versus Calibri controversy, for instance, promotes traditional font choices that symbolize established cultural norms while rejecting contemporary designs. This preference reinforces the idea that adherence to longstanding customs is essential for cultural integrity, reflecting a desire to protect a ‘native’ cultural identity against perceived threats from newer or diverse expressions.

Similarly, Sébastien de la Cruz faced backlash for singing the national anthem in a mariachi style, illustrating how nativist perspectives equate a singular national identity with conformity to specific cultural norms. This reveals a strong bias against non-native expressions. Unlike nationalism, which may accommodate diverse cultural expressions within a broader patriotic framework, nativism seeks to uphold a singular, traditional vision of national identity, rejecting any form of cultural pluralism. Interestingly, de la Cruz’s family’s reference to his father’s veteran status emphasizes a patriotic narrative dismissed by nativism critics.

Moreover, the banning of ethnic-studies materials exemplifies nativism by attempting to erase perspectives that challenge the dominant cultural narrative. This action seeks to safeguard the interests of ‘native’ identities, framing alternative curricula as threats to national cohesion. As a form of cultural censorship, it aims to uphold a constructed notion of cultural homogeneity, actively marginalizing voices that diverge from traditional norms. Unlike broader anti-DEI efforts, which may resist change for ideological reasons, this specific ban embodies fear of non-native influences and a desire to maintain cultural homogeneity. This desire to preserve a ‘pure’ national culture reflects nativism’s goals, seeking to protect native interests and values. Such actions illustrate nativism’s efforts to sanitize the educational landscape, often justified by claims that alternative curricula threaten national unity.

Ultimately, these examples highlight how nativism seeks to preserve a singular cultural identity and frames non-native expressions as threats, clearly distinguishing it from nationalism and other related concepts.

3.2.1. The Manipulation of the Narratives of Love

Nativist movements present an inherent dilemma; they advocate for a model of unity and cohesion that can be fundamentally defined as a type of love, while simultaneously contradicting the interconnected and mobile nature of modern society. Many individuals involved in these movements may genuinely believe they are enacting a form of care for those who are close and similar to them, perceiving their actions as expressions of love for their families, nation, and religion. This raises critical questions: Does this framing render the concept of social love inoperative or obsolete if it can be posited as love even when it causes harm to others? How can we critically analyze nativism when it is defined as expressions of love? On one hand, individuals can perform acts of kindness and social love across various contexts. People are complex, often navigating conflicting and even contradictory positions on social issues, oscillating between their private and public lives. Ideological movements are rarely coherent or homogeneous. On the other hand, as Sara Ahmed argues, nationalist narratives within white supremacist groups frame their hatred and mistreatment of minorities—such as immigrants, LGBTQ+ individuals, feminists, and others—using a language of love for their own nation. I contend that this phenomenon reflects its deeply Christian character, both ideologically and theologically.

Ahmed emphasizes how nativist groups deploy narratives of love to justify hate and harm toward others. Initially part of her book The Cultural Politics of Emotion (Ahmed 2004), this idea was later reposted on her blog feministkilljoys under the title “Fascism as Love” (Ahmed 2016). Here, she explains that these groups position themselves as the true loving citizens, claiming victimhood against perceived threats to their rights. They justify their actions “out of love, seeking to defend the nation against others who threaten to steal it away” (Ahmed 2016). This sentiment reflects an imaginary nostalgia for a time when their privileges were unquestioned, perpetuating a self-referential and exclusive type of love. Ahmed contends that because these groups see themselves as loving, they view hate not as harm but as necessary ‘tough love’ to protect their nation and loved ones. Their hardships are interpreted as sacrifices, unifying them through a “heroic patriotic sentiment.” This “love…reproduces the collective as ideal” (Ahmed 2016), blurring the line between love and hate. They unify as defenders while excluding others perceived as traitors or intruders, projecting their love inwardly toward those embodying their national ideal: white, heterosexual, Christian, and economically stable individuals. Consequently, protecting the “foreigner” is framed as a threat to the nation’s purity.

On the other hand, as Ahmed (2016) also clarifies, the nation is perceived (and constructed) as the ultimate object of desire and love. When the nation’s promises of love are not fulfilled, these groups develop mechanisms “of defense against the loss of the object.” In their view, the lack of reciprocated love (in jobs, security, etc.) results from others claiming those benefits, prompting them to label migrants and minorities as criminals responsible for the nation’s plight. As she notes, “the nation as [a] loved object has been taken away,” and punishing minorities becomes a perceived act of love that further unifies them.

Nativism, as an ideology, is presented as inherently exclusionary and based on the normalized privileges and rights of one group over others; it relies on a linear narrative that positions its group above all others. This approach adopts an almost anti-historical stance, avoiding critical questioning and critique of its governance and social imperatives. Given its tendencies against migrants, Indigenous peoples, religious minorities, women, queer individuals, and even people with disabilities and divergent intellectual discourse, we can argue that nativist exclusion and rejection of differences in race, gender, and citizenship fundamentally undermine the principles of social love.

It is evident that for many disenfranchised groups, nativism generates pain, suffering, exclusion, fear, servitude, silence, exploitation, and discrimination. Ironically, nativism limits individuals’ potential and fundamentally prevents its members from transcending their in-group to care and love for those who are different to them or more vulnerable. By attempting to establish rigid, impenetrable borders to protect their constructed idea of community, nativism isolates groups from the broader global realities of cosmopolitanism and diversity. This isolation limits dialogue and collaboration between groups. This can be understood, in a broader sense, as an anti-social-love movement, concealed beneath a veneer of cohesion and deceptive unity; this can be seen as a simplistic and dismissive approach to the complexities of nativism and those enacting its ethos.

3.2.2. Ordo Amoris and the Dilemma of God as Love

In the previous section, we explained how nativist groups manipulate discourses of love to justify exclusion and oppression against minorities under the guise of loving and protecting the nation and its natural rights. Now, we will analyze how these supremacist narratives, rooted in the deeply Christian character of their members, utilize Christian discourse to establish hierarchies of care and love. They position themselves, and others like them, as the primary and sole beneficiaries of love, protection, and care.

We are not interested in engaging in a theological analysis, as it exceeds our expertise and focus. Instead, we aim to examine the gospels as social and cultural texts, deliberately avoiding discussions of divine revelation, doctrine, and the spiritual relationship between God and humanity. From a sociological perspective, we are particularly interested in the power dynamics they generate, especially in relation to Ordo Amoris. Ultimately, debates surrounding faith serve as conduits for analyzing how these discussions create hierarchies of care and justify discrimination under the guise of Christian love. In this work, we aim to examine how hierarchies of love are constructed within nativist narratives. We seek to understand how nativist groups deploy these political narratives and the responses that have emerged from the Roman Curia. Additionally, we explore how the concept of Ordo Amoris may be used to justify and validate social policy.

Nativist movements intriguingly employ a religious strategy that prioritizes affection for the ‘homeland’ and those who share similar identities over others. This approach weaponizes distinctions in care to foster vulnerability and justify the exclusion of migrants and marginalized groups. Consequently, a spatial divide emerges, treating the nation as a bounded, exclusive container of a singular culture—often imagined as homogeneous—while nurturing loyalty to the state and portraying immigrants as threats and deprived subjects of love. As a result, minorities and migrants are frequently encouraged or coerced into localized enclaves, revealing the tension between the rhetoric of inclusion and the physical reality of urban segregation. In this context, barrios, neighborhoods, and districts transform into spaces of exclusion defined by racial boundaries, exacerbated by poverty, disparities in social services, access to healthcare, government surveillance, and police brutality.

In this framework, the nation is divided into spaces of care and areas characterized by a deprivation of love, which can be termed ‘love deserts,’ as disparate policies are enacted in different locations. While many of these spaces are vibrant hubs of culture and diversity, they are often marginalized by public policies. It is within these intersections of discrimination, oppression, and resource inequality that we find significant disparities in life expectancy across regions.

For many in the West, the ‘problem’ is perceived to stem from the fact that many of these migrants are poor, non-white, non-Christians, and some identify as sexual minorities or LGBTQ+ individuals. What is particularly striking is that many policymakers who shape the lives—and deaths—of migrants and the impoverished identify as Christians. This faith is traditionally rooted in an ethos of care for the poor and vulnerable, framed within the concept of agape, a specific type of social love. More specifically, for Christians, God embodies love, and Jesus himself was a refugee, as his family fled persecution to seek refuge in Egypt.

One of the pinnacles of this dilemma, at least in the public eye, emerged between two global figures: U.S. President Donald Trump and Pope Francis (2013–2025), followed more recently by Vice President J.D. Vance and Pope Leo XIV (2025–present). The tension dates back to 18 February 2016, when Pope Francis responded to criticism from presidential candidate Donald Trump during his return to Rome after a pastoral visit to the U.S.–Mexico border. Trump had built his campaign on the promise of constructing a wall between the two nations. In response to a question about this, Pope Francis stated, “A person who thinks only about building walls, wherever they may be, and not building bridges, is not Christian. This is not in the Gospel” (BBC 2016). This bold statement highlighted the Catholic Church’s position on social justice issues, including migration.

Pope Francis has consistently addressed migration and nativism, notably during the 2018 “World Conference on Xenophobia, Racism, and Populist Nationalism in the Context of Global Migration.” Organized by the Vatican’s Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development and the World Council of Churches, the conference convened religious leaders, human rights activists, and scholars globally (Gomes 2019). In his message to the conference, Pope Francis criticized the political exploitation of fear and the challenges faced by vulnerable groups, stating that some politicians manipulate these fears for electoral gain (Pope Francis 2018). This stance reflects the Roman Catholic Church’s commitment to advocating for the rights of migrants and countering nativist rhetoric, emphasizing compassion over division.

The final document of the 2018 conference stated, “Racism is a sin, in both its personal and systemic expressions, radically incompatible with the Christian faith” (World Council of Churches and Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2018). It directly addressed nativism, declaring that “Claiming to protect Christian values or communities by shutting out those who seek safe refuge from violence and suffering is unacceptable.” It further noted that this narrative “undermines Christian witness in the world and raises up national boundaries as idols” (World Council of Churches and Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2018), reinforcing the Christian call to love others regardless of their background.

In his encyclical Fratelli Tutti (Pope Francis 2020), Pope Francis expanded on universal fraternity and love for migrants. Despite this, some conservative and nativist Catholics in the U.S. oppose his pro-immigrant stance, particularly regarding economic and migration issues (Codina 2019). Many nativist and conservative Catholics in the United States have expressed opposition to his pro-immigrant stance, particularly his pastoral approach to economic, environmental, and migration-related issues. While this opposition is relatively small compared to the broader Catholic community, it is notable for its visibility and financial resources.

The rift within the Catholic community in the United States has persisted, particularly highlighted by J.D. Vance’s actions following his conversion to Catholicism in August 2019. He has faced criticism for invoking St. Augustine of Hippo’s concept of Ordo Amoris to justify the Trump administration’s America-first policies and the mistreatment of migrants. Vance argues that this concept, also analyzed by Aquinas ([1271–1272] 2017), creates a hierarchy of love and establishes an order of priorities regarding how love should be enacted and “distributed” based on proximity to individuals. Referring to Ordo Amoris, Vance suggests that,

As an American Citizen your compassion belongs first to your fellow citizens… There is this old school… a very Christian concept…That you love our family, and then you love your neighbor, and then you love your community, and then you love your fellow citizens in your own country, and then, after that, you can focus and prioritize the rest of the world. A lot of the far left has completely inverted that, they seem to hate the citizens of their own country, and care more about people outside their own borders. That is not [the] way to run a society.

(Vance 2025)

In other words, Vance asserts that there is a primary responsibility toward family and the nation, followed by a secondary responsibility toward foreigners. Moreover, he goes beyond merely describing a hierarchy of care. As previously explained regarding the narratives of nativist movements, he employs a binary rhetoric around love. In this framework, he and the President, along with their supporters, are portrayed as the only ones choosing to love the nation by electing a policy of ‘America First,’ while those on the far left are presented as neglecting the nation by caring more about people outside the country than about their own families and fellow citizens.

Vance’s interpretation of Ordo Amoris seems to contradict a fundamental tenet of the Gospels, as reiterated by Pope Francis: the call to love everyone without distinction, reflecting Christians belief that God’s love encompasses all individuals. St. Thomas Aquinas, discussing St. Augustine’s concept of Ordo Amoris, articulates this notion succinctly: “If any man [person] loves not his neighbor, neither does he love God, not because his neighbor is more lovable, but because he is the first thing to demand our love; and God is more lovable by reason of His greater goodness” (Aquinas [1271–1272] 2017, II-II, q. 26, a. 2). Thus, one cannot authentically claim to love God without also loving their neighbor, which includes extending that love to individuals outside one’s family and nation, without distinction or priority. In essence, Ordo Amoris as explained by St. Thomas Aquinas, works as an appeal and a reminder to prioritize love for God and to all people over material pursuits, recognition, fame, power, and self-interest.

This disconnect between defining God as love and the Christian imperative to love and care for others, regardless of shared values or cultural backgrounds, highlights a critical moment in contemporary discourse (Pope Stephen 2025). It is important to note that this phenomenon does not signify a form of atheism that denies God’s existence; such a denial is implausible, considering Christianity’s role as a unifying element among many contemporary nativists in the United States. Moreover, this rift between the essence of God as love and the selective prioritization of whom to love can be interpreted as a political strategy, effectively providing a moral justification for inflicting harm and fostering hatred.

In this context, we may be witnessing a new form of nativist mercantilism that integrates the concept of God. Here, God becomes an object of affection (Ahmed 2016), necessitating alignment with national love. The ideology behind Manifest Destiny posits that God had a divine plan for the United States to expand its territory and spread democracy and civilization. The nation-state is envisioned as a manifestation of God’s love for its rightful members. Manifest Destiny became ingrained in American national identity, merging religious beliefs with patriotic duty. This ideology often framed the U.S. as “a city upon a hill” or a “chosen nation,” tasked with a moral obligation to disseminate its values and beliefs globally. Thus, American expansion was frequently seen as a fulfillment of biblical prophecy—a God-given right granted to the U.S. and its citizens.

The promise of the nation’s love may also manifest similarly to the notion of love for God. However, a God that demands equal love for others complicates matters, as this principle conflicts with the reality of expansion, dominion, and control necessary to uphold the current system. From a sociological perspective, these shifts and contradictions raise profound questions about how Catholic nativist movements might be “rewriting” their understanding of divine love and its implications for human interactions, particularly concerning charity and care for those in need. Furthermore, deploying the concept of Ordo Amoris may serve multiple functions. By invoking this early theological document, proponents may argue for validation through proximity to a “pure” original source or a founding figure of Christianity.

On the other hand, this concept may function as a defensive mechanism, akin to what Ahmed describes. In this context, it validates the belief that proponents are merely adhering to God’s intended will regarding love among people. Consequently, those advocating for egalitarian and indiscriminate love are often portrayed as naive, wasteful (due to their “irrational” love), or as refusing to follow God’s order. The order established by Vance’s notion of Ordo Amoris serves not only to organize hierarchies but also to define the appropriate and just use of love.

Since the primary responsibility lies with family, neighbors, and the nation, it creates tension in relationships with those who are unfamiliar. The argument against choosing to love one’s family and loved ones over strangers is rationalized as unnatural, unpatriotic, and irrational. It is challenging to argue against people’s inclination to love those they know and are close to. In many ways, the premise of patriotism and national protection is anchored in this idea. The ‘tyranny’ (and contradiction) lies in the fact that Jesus commands his followers to love him more than one’s family. According to the Gospel, Jesus states, “If you come to me but will not leave your family, you cannot be my follower. You must love me more than your father, mother, wife, children, brothers, and sisters—even more than your own life!” (Luke 14:25–27).

As Joan Tronto delineates in her book Moral Boundaries: A Political Argument for an Ethic of Care (Tronto 1993), the issue of care is a deeply political matter that requires navigating the boundaries defined by power, inequality, and social justice. Care, as she explains, has historically been framed and understood through gender boundaries, often presented as a woman’s responsibility and part of her nature. This perspective is both historically inaccurate and perpetuates structures of harm and inequality, as care work is devalued, taken for granted, or delegated to others without questioning the responsibilities or assumptions of privileged groups that expect to be cared for by the state. In this context, J.D. Vance’s articulation of Ordo Amoris performs as a shift (or justification for the shift) in the responsibility to care for those in need, moving it from the state (or those in power) to individuals themselves or, at best, to the responsibility of others (e.g., international agencies, charity organizations) rather than that of the state. Since the emphasis is placed on in-kind resources for caring for immigrants, the needs of foreigners and other nations are diminished or eliminated. Let us remember that one of the first policies implemented by the Trump-Vance during the first months of their administration in 2025 was the systematic dismantlement of the U.S. Agency for International Development, which resulted in the cancellation and closure of around 83% of its foreign aid programs and the firing of about 94% of its employees. The impact on healthcare access, education, and disease prevention affected many countries globally.

The implications of this rupture, within nativist movements, are particularly intriguing, as it permits parallel notions of the order of love to coexist. These movements often promote a self-referential approach, emphasizing love for one’s kin and nation. Grounded in familiarity and self-interest, this perspective limits the potential for meaningful encounters with those who are different and hinders the capacity to address privilege and injustice. It creates an exclusionary framework that not only justifies unfair treatment of others but also legitimizes an almost fetishistic expression of love and affection toward one’s own community and nation. As love becomes conditional and dictated by proximity or shared identity, the transformative power of genuine inclusivity and compassion is stifled. In this context, the moral imperative to love one’s neighbor, regardless of their background, is overshadowed by an ethos that prioritizes division over unity.

Beyond the debate over whose interpretation of Ordo Amoris may be correct, we can explore its function within nativist movements and how it is redefined and repurposed to strategically shape and justify political discourse and social policy. How does the term operate within nativist ideology beyond its initial meaning?

In this re-enactment, the concept of Ordo Amoris is strategically utilized to express nativist views on love, belonging, and community values. This rhetorical framework resonates with their emphasis on cultural identity, enabling discussions about a structured hierarchy of care, affiliation, and responsibility that prioritizes national or cultural allegiance. By using Ordo Amoris, these movements create a moral framework that endorses traditional values, suggesting that love should be guided by established social norms and cultural practices of proximity and affinity. This aligns with nativist sentiments, which stress the necessity of preserving existing social structures against perceived threats from globalization and multiculturalism. The argument asserts that such trends can weaken social cohesion, upsetting the natural order of love and community. By invoking a Christian concept articulated by two “founding fathers” of Catholic and Western thought, they gain legitimacy and a sense of genealogical tradition.

They effectively utilize the rhetoric of care inherent in Ordo Amoris, positioning their insistence on prioritizing certain loves, be they familial ties or national loyalty, as essential for societal well-being, unity and national survival. This narrative allows them to justify exclusionary practices regarding immigration and cultural integration while framing their positions as compassionate and concerned for the common good.

Furthermore, engagement with religious values adds a significant layer to this narrative. Given the term’s origin and context, it serves as a bridge linking faith, social governance, and cultural order, providing religious coherence and a faith basis for their arguments. By connecting their political discourse to deeply held beliefs, they solidify support among demographics that feel their values are reflected in this idea of prioritized love, care for their families, and their nation.

In summary, through the lens of Ordo Amoris, they construct a coherent narrative that emphasizes identity, morality, and social order. This approach serves as a powerful rhetorical tool, enabling them to convey a vision of community that resonates with their supporters while advocating for a return to traditional values. They emphasize America-first policies that center, serve, and protect the interests of the United States (and those perceived as belonging there) above the interests of all other nations, cultures, or peoples. Furthermore, this is perceived as God’s intended mission for them and the nation-state.

Yet, what mechanisms of resistance or counter-discourses have emerged and been enacted in response to the logic of Ordo Amoris proposed by the Trump-Vance Administration? What examples illustrate how social love has influenced public discourse about migration in the United States? Some of them may include various grassroots movements (e.g., the “Dreamers”), advocacy campaigns, community solidarity initiatives (e.g., the Sanctuary Movement), as well as artistic expressions aimed at reframing narratives surrounding migration. We would like to analyze the recent protests against ICE (U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement) in Minneapolis. Are they expressions of social love, state disobedience, or perhaps both?

3.2.3. Exploring the ICE Protests in Minneapolis

On 23 January 2026, Minnesota experienced an unprecedented statewide general economic blackout and strike, coinciding with public protest events that drew tens of thousands of participants under the title “ICE Out of Minnesota: Day of Truth & Freedom” (Griffith et al. 2026). This boycott was initiated by a broad coalition that included faith leaders, pro-immigrant groups, labor unions, community organizations, and various civil-society actors. ISAIAH, a grassroots network of faith-based organizations affiliated with the Faith in Action network, played a central role in organizing the event. Other participating organizations included the Minnesota AFL-CIO, CWA Local 7250, Service Employees International Union (SEIU) Local 26, UNITE HERE Local 17, and the Minnesota Nurses Association. This diverse coalition underscores the significance and relevance of the boycott.

It is particularly relevant that ISAIAH is a faith-based coalition, especially in light of our previous discussion on Ordo Amoris. Formed in 2000 through the merger of three community organizations: the Great River Interfaith Partnership (GRIP), Interfaith Action, and the St. Paul Ecumenical Alliance of Congregations (SPEAC). These groups initially served the larger Twin Cities metropolitan area and St. Cloud in Minnesota. Now, as ISAIAH, they have broadened their efforts into a statewide coalition.

As stated on their website, “Each group had a strong tradition of grassroots organizing and a shared belief that bold, unified action was needed to confront racial and economic injustice across Minnesota” (ISAIAH 2000). Inspired by their faith, ISAIAH advocates for affordable healthcare for all Minnesota children, regardless of immigration status. Their efforts also encompass public transportation, job access, labor protection, affordable housing, domestic violence, environmental justice, education, and voter suppression prevention. Their participation in the ICE protest in Minneapolis reflects a deep commitment to social justice and a faith-based call to action, rather than a random event. Their work contrasts sharply with the nativist interpretation of Ordo Amoris, which focuses on care within familiar relationships, while ISAIAH extends compassion to migrants and strangers.

Moreover, an analysis of Ordo Amoris in relation to ISAIAH should go beyond solely addressing proximity and affinity. ISAIAH’s understanding of caring for those in need—extending beyond familiar individuals—has broadened its social consciousness regarding systemic oppression and discrimination. In contrast, a nativist approach that solely prioritizes employed citizens who are upper/middle class, heterosexual, and English-speaking overlooks the challenges faced by individuals who do not fit these categories or who lack access to resources. This narrow perspective can also overlook the privileges held by those in power. Consequently, ISAIAH stresses the importance of tackling the broader societal structures that sustain racial and economic injustices, as well as systemic inequalities.

In essence, a nativist interpretation that emphasizes a traditional view of family and community tends to overlook the needs of those outside immediate kinship. This perspective primarily favors ties associated with heterosexual families, marginalizing queer families and other diverse structures. A hierarchy of care often emphasizes individual responsibility and self-reliance within the in-group, which can undermine collective efforts to support historically marginalized and subjugated groups. Consequently, migrants are frequently depicted as solely responsible for meeting their own needs. Unsurprisingly, this perspective aligns with the Trump administration’s policies that restrict welfare assistance to migrants seeking to legalize their status in the United States (Greenberg 2026), particularly as outlined in the Public Charge Rule, set to take effect on 18 September 2026 (DHS 2026).

In this context, the hierarchical interpretation of Ordo Amoris reflects principles inherent in the controversial ‘Prosperity Gospel’ prevalent in the United States. This theory posits that financial success and physical well-being are signs of divine favor (Bowler 2018; Jones and Woodbridge 2010). It emphasizes individual responsibility, promoting material wealth achieved through self-reliance, meritocracy, and sacrifice, often at the expense of communal accountability and recognition of privilege. Furthermore, it tends to normalize poverty as a result of personal choices.

ISAIAH, as a faith-based organization committed to advocating for various social issues, asserts that faith must translate into actionable justice. This commitment stands in stark contrast to interpretations of Ordo Amoris that prioritize personal piety over political engagement and societal change. ISAIAH embodies a mature sense of care, and a more expansive and socially engaged understanding of compassion and justice than what is typically found in hierarchical readings of Ordo Amoris. The confrontation between grassroots groups, activists, and migrants and members of the Trump administration captured national attention, particularly as the situation escalated to violence in Democratic cities like Los Angeles (California) and Minneapolis (Minnesota) in the preceding months. This unrest was part of the Department of Homeland Security’s “Operation Metro Surge,” which commenced in December 2025. The operation significantly increased the number of immigration enforcement agents in Minnesota from 150 to more than 3000 in a city (Chen 2026) that has just around 600 police officers for the entire metropolitan area (Korecki 2026).

Local public outrage intensified due to the detention of active asylum seekers, lawful immigrants, U.S. citizens, and the broader mistreatment of individuals. During the violent confrontations, several schools were forced to transition to remote learning, and everyday commerce was severely disrupted by the overwhelming federal law enforcement presence. The organizers included members from diverse cultural, ethnic, and racial groups, with the majority being American citizens. The killing of two civilians by federal immigration agents, Renée Nicole Macklin Good, on 7 January, sixteen days before the march, and Alex Pretti on 24 January—both American citizens—intensified the ongoing crisis, especially as the government tried to misrepresent them as domestic terrorists, violent and radical.

The government employed rhetorical tactics designed to demonize Good and Pretti while portraying immigration agents as victims. Within hours of the killing of 37-year-old Renée Nicole Good by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) deportation officer Jonathan Ross, former Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem implied that Good was responsible for her own death, labeling her actions as “domestic terrorism” (Ramirez Uribe 2026). Vice President J.D. Vance called her “brainwashed” and a “part of a broader left-wing network to attack, to dox, to assault and to make it impossible for our ICE officers to do their job” (Gomez 2026). He argued that Good was attempting to run over Ross with her car, asserting that he acted in self-defense. In the case of Pretti, an intensive care nurse with the United States Department of Veterans Affairs, the government claimed he was trying to kill the agents. Greg Bovino, a Border Patrol Commander and the leading official of the immigration operation in Minneapolis at that time, known as Operation Metro Surge, described Pretti as “an individual [who] wanted to do maximum damage and massacre law enforcement” (Barnett 2026). Pretti was legally licensed to carry a handgun.

Furthermore, in verified video footage from several news outlets, Pretti is shown not to be holding his gun at the time he was shot, as it had been taken away by an agent prior to the incident (Vinick et al. 2026). He was, however, holding a cellphone. The fact that the government portrayed him as a terrorist simply because he was carrying a legally permitted firearm elicited public criticism from conservative gun rights groups, such as the National Rifle Association (NRA) and the Gun Owners of America (GOA), who consistently reinforced the protections granted by the Second Amendment, which allows individuals to carry weapons.

In many ways, what unfolded in Minneapolis was a massive mobilization of people expressing an aspect of social love. The activists sought to create a different world, contrasting with J.D. Vance’s concept of Ordo Amoris. While we do not imply that all actions by the activists were expressions of social love, many individuals willingly put their lives and safety at risk to help and support people who were likely not related to them as family, not citizens of their nation, and, in many cases, from different cultures, religions, and possibly non-normative sexual orientations. They sought to improve the lives of strangers—people unable to repay them or even know their names.

The collective actions and steadfast commitment to justice by the protesters, along with the killing of civilians and the erosion of political norms resulting from these events, created significant pressure on the Trump administration to change direction—at least publicly—in response to the widespread national backlash they encountered.

“Operation Metro Surge” ultimately became a public relations disaster (Lavietes 2026). On 26 January, just two days after Pretti’s death, the Trump administration demoted Greg Bovino from his post in Minneapolis and transferred operations oversight to Tom Homan. This marked the beginning of a gradual reduction in federal presence in the city.

On 12 February 2026, Tom Homan announced the dismantling of “Operation Metro Surge.” On the same day, Jacob Frey, the Democratic Mayor of Minneapolis, addressed the recent weeks’ events on X, stating, “They thought they could break us, but a love for our neighbors and a resolve to endure can outlast an occupation” (Frey 2026). This statement echoed the sentiments of many who rallied against the oppressive measures and highlighted the community’s resilience.

He emphasized an ethos of care and love for others, adding, “These patriots of Minneapolis are showing that it’s not just about resistance—standing with our neighbors is deeply American” (Frey 2026). This statement directly addressed the notion that their actions were not anti-patriotic or an attack on the nation-state; rather, they should be interpreted as foundational and constitutive of maintaining a nation built on the contributions and experiences of migrants.

A few days earlier, on 28 January, the editors of The Nation publicly nominated Minneapolis and its people for the 2026 Nobel Peace Prize, stating, “The moral leadership of the people and city of Minneapolis has set an example for those struggling against fascism everywhere on the face of a troubled planet” (The Editors of The Nation 2026). Their nomination recognized the city’s mobilization in support of vulnerable individuals, the acts of peaceful resistance, and the importance of the demonstrations that emerged in response to the violence inflicted by federal immigration enforcement during that time.

3.3. Beyond Affiliation: From Nativism to Relationality

As previously explained, no nation, culture, religion, or political group can claim exclusive ownership of social love or its domains. In fact, the task of defining or quantifying its boundaries presents significant challenges (Miller 2008). Beyond the universal social behaviors necessary for human survival, such as refraining from violence and respecting individual freedom, achieving consensus on a universal narrative framework for what constitutes love remains elusive. This complexity arises because love is deeply contextual and cultural, requiring mutual understanding between parties within their specific social realities.

Moreover, while it is crucial to acknowledge that individuals’ consciousness and dignity must never be infringed upon or compromised, the reality is far more intricate. Social consciousness itself can be manipulated. The narratives of love employed by nativist movements illustrate that not all actions perceived as just or well-intentioned truly embody social love. Furthermore, what was deemed acceptable in the past may no longer align with contemporary moral, legal, or social standards. Nativist exclusionary movements may frame their actions as righteous, yet their treatment of Indigenous communities, women, and minorities exemplifies how consciousness can be corrupted or distorted through ideology, fear, and misinformation.

In this context, love serves as a complicating factor—and potentially a “scandal”—for states and nativist movements, as it transcends the boundaries and definitions imposed by nations. It challenges the legitimacy of policies that stand in opposition to the ideals of social love. As Hooks (2000) articulates, “If all public policy was created in the spirit of love, we would not have to worry about unemployment, homelessness, schools failing to teach children or addiction” (p. 98). This perspective encourages a reevaluation of public institutions, viewing them not merely as bureaucratic entities but as reflections—or failures—of our collective capacity for care. When policies neglect the principle of love, they become susceptible to criticism for their inadequacies in fostering an inclusive and supportive society. Thus, understanding love as a vital component of social policy underscores the need for systemic change rooted in empathy and communal well-being.

In this context, love and care can be utilized to identify and quantify certain aspects of a nation’s tendencies toward compassion, as demonstrated by initiatives like the World Love Index project (Cataldi and Iorio 2026). Additionally, we can evaluate political institutions based on the extent (and manner) to which they incorporate practices of care, solidarity, and responsibility toward their members (Tronto 2013; Kittay 1999). However, as previously discussed, love is inherently cultural and socially specific, making its quantification nearly impossible at times. The essential principles of unselfishness, care for others, self-awareness of privilege, and the dignity of individuals remain crucial for assessing a nation’s character.

Furthermore, comparisons between nations may not always yield useful or valid insights, highlighting the necessity to safeguard individual consciousness and freedom. Within this framework, we observe diverse forms of citizen resistance and mobilization aimed at justice, care, and equality—each an expression of love. These actions encompass a variety of non-violent strategies, including boycotts, strikes, marches, sit-ins, and acts of civil disobedience, such as factory workers slowing production or engaging in fasting. Each of these acts, whether collective or individual, aspires to promote transformative change within society. Remarkably, such changes can also be inspired by creative expressions, including art, performances, and legal advocacy. Ultimately, love manifests in multiple forms, underscoring its capacity to inspire action and foster collective well-being. This multitude of expressions reflects both the diversity of human experience and the potential for solidarity in pursuit of a more just and equitable world.

In this section, we want to explore a contrasting trend: a relational perspective in which we recognize the interdependence among individuals and between individuals and their environment. Love is not exclusive to the private sphere, nor merely a feeling. It is an action that combines “care, affection, recognition, respect, commitment, trust (…)” (Hooks 2000, p. 12). In this case, we shall explore a form of care for others and for the world. As Pulcini (2009) notes, caring is a practice that transcends charitable or sacrificial logic, in which the individual recognizes themself as incomplete and vulnerable. This need for care challenges the idea of autonomy and self-sufficiency (Tronto 1993) and leads to a relationality capable of assuming responsibility for the common good and “caring for the world” (Pulcini 2009).

In this sense, social love rejects exclusive forms of love—those that define who belongs and who is left out—and, conversely, embraces those that expand the boundaries of community, thereby shaping the concept of ‘we.’ Here, we will consider social love as a mode of relationality that pertains not only to caring for present humans but also for future generations and the natural world. Thus, in this section, we present a perspective on love that transcends an anthropocentric view by including all existing beings. To achieve this, we will draw on the cosmological perspectives of the Indigenous Peoples of Latin America.

As a resource for our argument, we will outline the commonalities among the Indigenous Peoples of Latin America, in a somewhat binary opposition to “Western modernity”—as the “myth of modernity” conceptualized by Dussel (1994). The issue, of course, is more complex, especially when we consider the cultural hybridization that characterizes Latin America, which encompasses diverse “modernities” and “traditions” (García Canclini 1990; Escobar 2007). That said, among the wide variety of Indigenous perspectives, many challenge the Western modern distinction between nature and culture, as well as the idea that only human beings fully participate in social life. This leads to a questioning of anthropocentrism and, conversely, to the inclusion of nature as a living being (Martins 2023). Rather than denying the differences between beings, these perspectives challenge the hierarchies and asymmetries that have historically been established between the various terms of Western dualism (Lugones 2010): “man/woman, nature/culture, civilized/barbarian, modern/traditional” (Svampa 2019, p. 45).

We refer to relational ontologies as all those that allow us to conceive community beyond humanity. They enable us to consider the “different ways of making worlds” (Lazzari 2018, p. 5) that result from the relationships between beings, among which natural entities may possess social and spiritual attributes (Descola 2012). For instance, this is a topic explored by Viveiros de Castro (2000, 2019) in his works on the Indigenous Peoples of the Amazonian lowlands. From this Amerindian Perspectivism, animals are conceived as former humans who have lost the attributes that humans have retained (Viveiros de Castro 2000, p. 20). This allows us to challenge, once again, the idea of humanity as a sphere completely distinct from the rest of existence and to understand the relationships between different beings in terms of continuity, interdependence, and reciprocity. In other words, beings do not exist as autonomous or isolated entities, but are constituted in and through the relationships they maintain with other human and non-human beings. For this reason, the community—which must be cared for—is not defined solely by membership in the human species, but by the network of relationships that makes life possible (Flores 2020).

These complex and ancient perspectives give rise to the pluriverse, composed of partially connected worlds intersected by power relations and ontological conflicts—disputes over ways of conceiving life, territory, and community (Escobar 2012). Understanding community through this lens of relationality means questioning the universalist claims of modern ontology, which are closely tied to an extractivist and utilitarian view of nature that reduces it to a mere commodity, thus separating it from social life. Furthermore, if humans and non-humans are part of the same community, then care, reciprocity, and responsibility extend beyond relationships among people to include all beings and everything that exists. Social love can therefore be conceived as a practice of “world care”—a form of care that is not confined to intersubjective relationships among humans but also encompasses the natural world (Campello 2023). By challenging the dominant anthropocentric and extractivist logic, nature ceases to be viewed as an external entity open to appropriation; instead, it becomes a constitutive part of an expanded community, the “we,” and, as such, an object of care and love expressed in concrete ways.

Relationality on Guaraní ñande reko

After the conquest and colonization of the Americas, the newly independent nation-state has played a central role in framing Indigenous Peoples as ‘the others’ within the national community. The State, through its institutions and power to define identity, has historically determined who is considered a legitimate part of the nation and under what conditions (Segato 2007). As noted, this has resulted in the systematic subordination of Indigenous Peoples (Quijano 2014). The construction of these ‘others’ can therefore only be understood in relation to the formation of a dominant ‘us’ (Casimiro Córdoba 2019), suggesting that otherness is not a natural given but a historical and relational construct. These classification systems continue to operate today. Unilaterally constructed stereotypes have solidified images of the ‘cultural other’ that transcend the contexts in which they arose, continuing to shape contemporary interethnic relations (Casimiro Córdoba 2019). As Segato (2007) warns, even individuals who do not identify as members of Indigenous Peoples or as persons of African descent may experience exclusion simply by bearing the ‘mark of the Indian’—the ‘trace of their historical subordination.’ Such individuals effectively ‘still constitute the vast masses of the dispossessed population’ (p. 156).

The dispossession of Indigenous Peoples was not limited to the symbolic realm— the erasure of ethnicity and history. The appropriation and concentration of land, territorial dispossession, and subordinate integration into regional labor markets also constituted fundamental mechanisms for the reproduction of inequalities (Segato 2007). In recent decades, the expansion of extractivism, the intensive exploitation of natural common goods, and the implementation of megaprojects have deepened territorial conflicts and evictions, often without consultation or consent from the affected communities (Svampa 2019; Farris 2021).

This does not imply that Indigenous peoples have been passive subjects. On the contrary, from the colonial period onwards, they have developed multiple forms of resistance. In the early decades of the 20th century, these struggles were often linked to peasant and agrarian movements (Velasco Cruz 2003). However, beginning in the 1980s, a contemporary Indigenous movement began to take shape, reclaiming ethnic identity as the foundation for political action (Bello 2004). This process, which Bengoa (2000) refers to as ‘Indigenous emergence,’ involved the proliferation of local, national, and continental Indigenous organizations, the articulation of common agendas, and the building of solidarity networks among diverse peoples. The assertion of Indigenous identity was particularly prominent on the eve of the 500th anniversary of European arrival in the Americas, leading to demands for land restitution, recognition of collective rights, political participation, autonomy, and self-determination. Indigenous movements succeeded in bringing their demands to the international stage, capitalizing on the expansion of human rights discourse and the creation of new legal instruments. Notably, this includes ILO Convention No. 169 and, later, the 2007 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. In recent years, we have also seen a significant increase in laws protecting Indigenous peoples across the Americas, including the incorporation of the concept of Buen Vivir into the constitutional frameworks of Ecuador and Bolivia.

In recent decades, Indigenous demands have been linked to critiques of dominant development paradigms and to the defense of the commons against the advance of extractivism and neoliberal globalization (Bello 2004). Their struggles are no longer limited solely to the defense of particular interests but instead challenge hegemonic ways of relating to nature, models of citizenship, and traditional conceptions of the State (Svampa and Viale 2014; Bello 2004).

“Contemporary Indigenous demands can, therefore, be understood as practices of resistance against the narratives that historically constructed them as subordinate ‘others.’ This remains true even when, not without tensions, they must negotiate and adapt to the logic of the market and the State, among other influences (Frere Affanni 2023). Through these demands, many communities are fighting not only for the recognition of specific rights but also for the possibility of existing differently, reclaiming their ancestral identities. For this reason, the defense of alternative ways of relating to nature also entails an expansion of democracy, advocating for collective decision-making and the right of communities to reject projects they consider harmful to their present and future living conditions (Svampa and Viale 2014). Beyond debates over production models, these struggles challenge the hegemonic ideas of ‘development’, ‘consumption’, and ‘quality of life’ that Western modernity has sought to universalize (Svampa and Viale 2014). These are genuine ‘ontological conflicts’, in which not only are resources and territories contested but also differing ways of understanding the relationship between nature and society. They challenge the dualisms that underpin coloniality (Escobar 2012) and confront hegemonic ways of life (Svampa and Viale 2014), as well as the ways in which the modern Western ‘universe’ has permeated populations across much of the world.

While acknowledging the commonalities that allow us to speak of relational ontologies, it is essential to recognize the diversity within them and, therefore, to work with their specific characteristics. Let us, then, examine the Guaraní world, focusing specifically on the Chiriguano/Ava-Guaraní. There, love is not limited to a private feeling or to the most immediate family ties but is expressed in a way of life based on reciprocity and care for all forms of existence. This is embodied in the ñande reko—“our culture” or “our way of being”—which constitutes the ethical and relational framework through which relationships between people, the community, and nature are organized. Living well (tekove kavi) means living in accordance with these Guaraní customs passed down from generation to generation (Casimiro Córdoba 2019).

The ñande reko can be understood as a concrete, context-specific kind of social love—a form of care for the world and for others—grounded in the recognition of the interdependence among individuals and between individuals and their environment. It is not an idealization of the past, but rather a vision for the future. It is not limited to the Guaraní people but extends to the community in the broadest sense, encompassing both humans and non-humans. Individual life cannot be understood in isolation from collective life because each person—as in relational ontologies—exists in relation to others: among people, with future generations, with the territory they inhabit, and with all of nature. In other words, the ñande reko expresses an expanded conception of community that transcends the boundaries of the strictly human; a “symbiotic understanding of life,” where humans, animals, plants, the forest, water, and spirits are all part of the same relational web (Medina 2002, p. 174).

Let us examine specific aspects that facilitate a discussion of the relational framework known as ñande reko, using Melià’s (1988) classic descriptions as a foundational guide, while also incorporating contemporary elements and reinterpretations. The elements that constitute the Guaraní way of being are not static relics of the past; rather, they are fluid and adaptable to changing contexts (De la Cadena and Starn 2009).

One aspect of the ñande reko relates to the organization of space, which reflects this relational logic. The Guaraní way of life is learned through space, conceived as four concentric circles that express the social and spiritual values inherent to the Guaraní way of good living, such as reciprocity and motirô (community work or minga) (Casimiro Córdoba 2019). In each of the circles, which correspond to a dimension of life, there are elements related to sharing and relational living. The oka (courtyard) is the basic unit of social organization, the place where family life unfolds (where people play, eat together, etc.). Within the koo (fence), agriculture takes place, which is linked to motirô and the principles of “solidarity and reciprocity” (Casimiro Córdoba 2019, p. 86). The kaa (“monte”/forest) represents the “vital space of nature and the supernatural” (Casimiro Córdoba 2019, p. 86). Finally, the last circle is the ivoka, the “world beyond the human” (Flores 2023, p. 10), a space within the monte accessible only to spiritual leaders, who use it to communicate with the supernatural world (Casimiro Córdoba 2019).

The Guaraní conception of the monte (forest) reveals that nature is alive, has its own spirits, interacts with the community, and makes itself understood (Yariguarenda Community 2020). The monte is a sacred space with various ritual sites. It is also the home of the forest’s “owners” (ija) and the animals. Whenever they punish humans, it is a punishment for those who do not respect the rules of reciprocity (Castelnuovo Biraben 2015, p. 87). Therefore, the issue of territory highlights an intertwining of the human and nature—which are inseparable—where reciprocity and balance with the non-human are part of ancestral knowledge, and whose violation is punished not only by humans but also by other spirits such as the Ija.

Referring to the forest, therefore, necessarily implies discussing the bond of balance and mutual respect between human beings, nature, and its spirits. Living and non-living beings—and even the supernatural—are not separate entities but rather part of social relationships (Escobar 2003), and an integral part of the same “socioeconomic community” (Descola 1996). As a Guaraní community publicly stated in response to a territorial conflict: “Our culture (…) has as ancestral values respect for all expressions of life (…). We live in connection with the earth (…) we coexist in harmony with nature, which shelters and embraces us and represents a great spiritual value to us” (Radio La Voz Indígena 2024b). Nature is not seen as an object of appropriation; rather, it is a reality of which we are an integral part, coexisting with it. This perspective fosters a sense of responsibility and stewardship toward the environment, emphasizing the importance of harmonious relationships with all beings and entities.

This conception is also reflected in the Guaraní economy, which is based on a “mode of production (…) closely linked to the social relations of consumption and reciprocity” (Melià 1988, p. 39). Land is not conceived as a commodity and therefore cannot be used as an object of commerce, any more than air or water can (Melià 1988). The territory exists, on the contrary, to guarantee life and collective subsistence, not for individual accumulation; for this reason, ownership is typically communal. Since the land was created for everyone’s use, its fruits are comparable to children. Therefore, buying and selling land can be likened to buying a human being (Melià 1997). This is something that, far from being limited to classical ethnographic studies, continues to emerge during the (frequent) territorial conflicts that communities face. On social media, a young Guaraní man states that the lands “are not for sale, nor are they for purchase, because we (…) defend the lands our ancestors left us so that we can live with them” (Radio La Voz Indígena 2024c). Reciprocity plays a central role in this way of life, which is expressed through the minga or motirõ: work carried out collectively in a festive atmosphere, culminating in the sharing of food and drink. The logic behind it is neither that of commercial exchange nor that of debt. The gift is given freely (there is no obligation of reciprocity, which, moreover, does not necessarily pertain to material things) and is aimed at maintaining equality and solidarity within the community: “It is not that everything belongs to everyone, but rather that everyone receives a gift from everyone” (Melià 1988, p. 48). One receives when needed and gives when the other is in need. That is why it is not an exchange but a gift, because one cannot make demands of the other party when that person is in a situation of need (Temple 1995).

If redistribution is necessary to establish reciprocal relationships (Temple 1995), then there must be production, which for the Guaraní people is fundamentally linked to agriculture. To achieve this, it is necessary to work the land, clear areas in the forest, and tend to the trees to protect the soil from the sun or rain. This translates into a relationship of respect and care for “the places, the resources, and the spirits that inhabit our territory” (Yariguarenda Community 2020, p. 22). From the land will come the produce that will be shared at the feasts and celebrations that “foster peace and friendship” (Medina 2002, p. 69). For the same reason, festivals are also part of the ñande reko: they are a “form of resistance” and an “affirmation of their own identity” (Melià 1997, p. 119). Their purpose is not to distribute economic surpluses equitably, nor is communal consumption their goal: the festival itself is not limited to consuming and distributing resources, but rather “produces” them (Medina 2002, p. 140). Reciprocity is, consequently, a characteristic of the relationship with nature and of the daily practices of Guaraní communities, in which children are also taught values that are interconnected: “Only with love (mboroau) the joy of working together (yayerovia kavi) develops on reciprocal terms (yoparareko) within families and communities” (Flores 2023, p. 13).

For all these reasons, the diversity of practices rooted in ñande reko that Guaraní communities continue to enact—especially when conflicts arise in their territories—can be seen as a means of recreating their “world” and advocating for a “pluriverse” where different worlds and plural forms of being coexist. In this sense, the various territorial and socio-environmental conflicts that Indigenous Peoples engage in can be understood as “political-ontological practices of the territory.” These practices allow them to resist while also re-exist, reinventing their identities and histories, and conceiving of multiple ways of being, existing, and inhabiting (Flores and Serapio 2019, p. 208). For the Guaraní and other Indigenous Peoples, this mode of inhabiting pertains to their relationships with both other fellow human beings and nature (Leff 2006).

Therefore, the ñande reko can be understood as a concrete expression of Buen Vivir, a vision that, although rooted in specific Indigenous experiences, has a universal—or rather, pluriversal—aspiration: “a new model of life (as opposed to the Western conception) but one that goes beyond Indigenous Peoples and applies to the entire planet (…) ultimately meaning happiness for Indigenous Peoples and all other human groups” (Houtart 2011, p. 2). Precisely because they advocate for harmony between humans and nature, they not only restore the dignity of Indigenous Peoples—who have been systematically oppressed—but also highlight the importance of their contributions to the global environmental crisis. This is how some communities specifically view the resolution of a territorial conflict in favor of one of them: as something positive “not only for the members of the community, but also for the entire area, because it protects a territory rich in biodiversity” (Radio La Voz Indígena 2024a).

In the context of the symbolic and material violence of extractivism—which disrupts the fabric of communal life—Indigenous Peoples choose to re-exist: not solely through defensive resistance, but by affirming a way of life that embraces emotions, memories, and aspirational futures. This commitment is linked to numerous experiences and communities promoting agroecological practices, actively opposing the large corporations that have ravaged territories and their inhabitants for decades (Svampa 2019). In this struggle, the defense of land is inherently a defense of life (Seoane 2006).

Thus, the ñande reko is not merely a construct of the past or a call to refrain from manipulating the commons. Instead, it embodies the principle that reciprocity, respect, and care for nature must underpin all productive practices. Consequently, it serves as a contemporary contribution to the pursuit of more solidarity-based, sustainable, and just ways of inhabiting and caring for the world.

4. Conclusions: Love as Resistance

As this article argues, social love should not be seen merely as an ethical disposition or an interpersonal virtue; rather, it should be understood as a political category that illuminates forms of collective action often overlooked in academic and political discourse. By framing love as a social practice situated in specific contexts, we can critically analyze the concept of nativism. This ideology transforms a legitimate attachment to a nation into a framework that privileges native-born individuals while excluding migrants, minorities, and other groups perceived as threats to national cohesion. Through exclusionary geographies, nativism undermines the core principles of social love, which are rooted in openness, care, reciprocity, and the recognition of others’ dignity. For instance, the invocation of Ordo Amoris—the prioritization of obligations to family or nation over those to strangers—demonstrates how theological concepts can be reinterpreted to justify selective forms of care.

Against this logic, we assert that social love cannot be confined to a hierarchy of belonging or emotions. Instead, it encourages the expansion of community boundaries and embraces the diversity of ways of being. This relational perspective forms the foundation for transcending anthropocentric and nationalist conceptions of belonging, fostering relational ontologies in which care encompasses all human beings—regardless of origin or citizenship—as well as non-human entities, future generations, and the environments that sustain collective life. In light of the current humanitarian and ecological crises, it is imperative to explore relationship models that prioritize inclusion over exclusion and offer alternatives to the ongoing deterioration of our world.

In this sense, we examine two cases that serve as illustrative examples of social action, care and love. Although they are not intended to be directly compared or to exhaust the discussion, they nonetheless point to a common relational logic that may provide a basis for future research. Both challenge political projects founded on exclusion by expanding the boundaries of care, responsibility, and belonging. In Minneapolis, the mobilization against anti-immigrant violence involved individuals who risked their lives for those marginalized by the impoverished logic of nativism. Participants acted on behalf of people from whom they could expect nothing in return, thereby enacting a radically expansive understanding of political community. In the Guaraní context of ñande reko, defending territory means safeguarding a web of relationships that includes humans, non-humans, ancestors, spiritual beings, and future generations. Therefore, territory is not an object to be possessed but a living community to which one belongs.

Although further analysis of the issue is needed, we believe that social love represents a robust framework for analyzing these actions, as they demonstrate instances where care, empathy, and solidarity for others expand, transcend expectations, and overflow conventional categories of family, nation, ethnicity, or citizenship. Such practices foster new forms of solidarity capable of confronting projects rooted in fear, exclusion, dispossession, and dehumanization. For this reason, they invite us to rethink the idea of love as resistance. It transforms from being merely opposition to domination into alternative ways of inhabiting the world, shaped by relations of care, reciprocity, and belonging. It is precisely because relationships with territory, other humans, ancestors, and the more-than-human world are experienced as constitutive of life itself that attacking them becomes politically intolerable. Resistance, therefore, is not merely reactive; it is the active defense and continual enactment of relational worlds that already exist.

Further research could explore how individuals securely contribute to trusted charities or non-profit organizations through online platforms like https://kindness.org. This investigation may also include the ways in which these platforms counteract fake and misleading information about people, communities, or events. Despite the challenges, the internet has demonstrated its potential to foster collective memory, healing, and resistance. Additionally, the analysis should examine how acts of social love challenge national and economic policies that exploit marginalized groups, while simultaneously proposing viable alternatives. In today’s landscape, the conflict is increasingly evident in virtual spaces, highlighting that the vision of a different world cannot be realized without a substantial online presence.

To deepen these explorations, it is essential to include data collected from interviews and fieldwork in future studies. This approach will allow researchers to identify recurring patterns and themes related to love, relationality, power, and representation in a context-specific manner, especially regarding gender, race, class, and citizenship as analytical frameworks. Such research will contribute to a nuanced understanding of how individuals and communities articulate their experiences and negotiate their identities through the lens of love.